


Granny Granger's Bludgers

by trascias



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trascias/pseuds/trascias
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione leaves the country to look for her parents. While she slowly rebuilds her family, the Weasleys have their own battles to fight back in England.How much will have her world changed after 6 months away?A/N: It is a long fic, the relationship builds very slowly and I am also excruciatingly slow updating. Plus, I am not a native English speaker... you have been warned.Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, places and events are property of J.K. Rowling (and probably Warner?), I am just playing with them for a while (non-profit, of course).
Relationships: Hermione Granger/George Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	1. Back to Britain

The air was crisp and Hermione, rather than burrowing herself in her cloak, extended her neck to get a bit of the fresh smell of the late autumn fields around the Burrow. The warm, slightly dry breeze she associated to the place had been replaced by fresher gusts of wind thick with the last burst of life after the frequent rains. She knew that in only a few weeks the winter chill would make the fields barren. Probably the most disconcerting thing of coming back after almost six months in the other hemisphere was getting used to the fact that winter was coming - again. She could understand better now that her parents had wanted to wait for another couple of months before coming back; this way they would have a last taste of Australia's summer.

Hermione trudged her way up the hill until she had her first view of the Burrow and felt her breath catch. It was still, by no means, a logical construction from the muggle point of view but neither was it the organic, impossible structure that it had been before the reconstruction. The house still grew completely asymmetrical and unbalanced, but now the columns were straight and even, the wood shone new and the windows were, if not of the same shape, at least had the same colour. 

In short, it was both familiar but not quite the same. She thought she should probably get used to the feeiling.

She felt her nervousness hitch up as she neared the front door and used the new polished knocker. It was a meeting she had been both anticipating and dreading. She hoped, though, that once there, the natural bustle of the family would carry her through the evening unnoticed. She was not disappointed.

"Hullo Percy," she said with a tentative smile when the tall redhead opened the door.

"Who's it?" came from the kitchen.

"Hermione's here," called back Percy, giving her a quick but tight hug. "It's good to see you," he stated, and Hermione felt her smile widen in response. She didn't have time to answer before Molly came bustling from the kitchen and gathered her in a long hug. "Hermione, dear, I'm so happy to see you back."

"As I am. Thank you for having me,"

"Hush, nonsense, you know this is your home," she waved her platitudes away. "But come in, it iss quite chilly already," she continued, seemingly flustered and bustled to the kitchen. Hermione followed her. "How are your parents, dear?"

"They are fine now, thank God. They send their regards, and two boxes of Lamingtons - it's a dessert from there," she explained, raising the very muggle plastic bag she had been carrying.

"Oh, they shouldn't have."

Another tall redhead wrapped her in his arms the moment he saw her.

"Blimey, Hermione, it's been a while," said Bill, holding her for a surprisingly long time.

"Leave the girl breath, you dolt," said Arthur, hugging her in turn.

"I didn't know you were coming", explained Bill, giving her a critical one over. "You are looking good," he proclaimed, apparently satisfied of what he saw. It was no wonder he thought so, Hermione thought with a shudder, the last time he had seen her was straight after the battle and the previous just after... her mind skittered away from it.

"Oh, I told Harry to warn you. Didn't he say anything..?"

"He did, last week," confirmed Molly from the kitchen's door. "You've been making yourself scarce," she chided.

"Curious that, Fleur was telling me exactly the same thing," he commented, making Percy snort and Arthur start coughing to cover a laugh.

A third, soft snort to her left made her realise there was someone else in the room.

"George!" she exclaimed, before throwing her arms around his waist and squeezing fiercely, shock running through her. "I had not seen you..." She had known she would see him, but somehow it hit her worse than expected - maybe it was how long it had taken her to notice him or the bones she could feel through his jumper, he had always been so solid..., but there was a feeling of wrongness around him that she felt seeping into her bones. She felt her throat thicken with tears and immediately started listing the Heads of Hogwarts from the founders down to gather herself.

She was saved from the awkwardness by the sound of the floo and Harry's exclamation.

"Hermione!" 

"Harry!" she almost sobbed before launching herself at him and burrowing her face on his shoulder, genuinely happy to see him.

He smiled beatifically and hugged her back hard.

"I missed you too terribly too, but please don't cry because it may cause a chain reaction."

Hermione chuckled wetly and pulled back, beaming at him. "I did miss you, you prat." She hoped fervently that the Weasleys had assumed the same thing.

She looked behind him and suddenly the nerves came back.

"Ron!" she said, her smile becoming somewhat hesitant. He gave her a brief hug but immediately stepped back.

"Mione," he said, and she could immediately see his discomfort. She tried to mask her disappointment and pretended not to notice anything strange. She had to admit it had hurt her barely receiving news from him after...everything. Still, her heart did a little somersault at seeing him again. As the day evolved, she felt it sink instead, as Ron seemed intent on putting as much distance between them both as he could. So much that she had ended up seated in between Harry and George at one end of the table, while he sat on the opposite end, between his father and Percy. Not once had she managed to make their eyes cross paths.

Harry was raptly listening to Bill, who was talking about his last assignment in Norway. She sighed and focused on George on her side, which she had been uncomfortably aware of during all the dinner, particularly since he had been unusually quiet. George was looking extremely thin and pale, with heavy black circles hanging around his eyes, but although shocked, she could not say that she had really been surprised. 

As Harry vehemently refuted Bill's sentence over whatever the Magpie's new chaser did in their last match, she turned towards her other side, lowering her voice.

"How are you coping?" she asked hesitantly, not really knowing how to speak to him or what to say.

"Fine," he answered automatically.

"Right." The word escaped her before she could stop it.

"As fine as I can be, considering," he backpedalled with a hint of annoyance.

"Okay," she said, trying to school her face into showing anything other than the commiseration she felt.

She must have failed because he dropped his fork on his dish and leaned in closer.

"Why is it me getting always these looks? Ron lost a brother too," he hissed.

"Ron lost a brother," she agreed quietly, going back to her plate. She didn't say anything else, but she could feel George fuming at her side, moving his food around. Probably he had understood the implications in her voice, that he somehow had lost more. Smooth, Granger, really smooth. This felt exactly like the conversation she had been trying to avoid. She pretended to concentrate on her food- she knew George was not in top shape, but the golden rule of Gryffindor Tower still held true: never antagonise a Weasley Twin.

That's why she was very surprised that it was him who broke the silence with a perfectly polite opening.

"So, back in London... where are you staying?"

"At Harry's, actually," she answered. "...if he has not forgotten."

"Oh, cool. So why the teary reunion before?"

"Oh, I don't know, perhaps it hit me suddenly - it has been a long time..." she fibbed, "I came here directly from the Portkey office. My things are in my purse."

"Your purse?" he asked absently.

She pointed towards the hanger by the door where, among other coats, hung her infamous beaded purse - looking quite ratty if she had to admit it, having lost two-thirds of the beads at some point or another and sporting quite evident scorching marks on one side.

"undetectable extensible charm plus a modified levitation charm, they took me quite a bit to embed in the fabric..." she explained, a bit defensive.

Instead of the teasing she had expected, he only gave her a ghost of a smile before looking down to his plate and scooping a bit more of potato puree.

She offered her own olive branch.

"They've allowed me to sit my NEWTs at the end of the year, so I will start preparing them soon."

He nodded and she took it as encouragement.

"I already have appointments with Professors McGonagall, Snape, Vector and Flitwick."

George almost had the energy to give a full roll of eyes.

"Of course the first people you would want to visit would be your teachers, Granger"

"That's our Hermione, " piped Harry from the other side and the conversation steered towards the new members of the staff. Slughorn had accepted to fill in as the Potions instructor for what he claimed to be the very last year. Josephine Cresswell, widow of the deceased Dirk Cresswell, took over muggle studies. She, along with McGonagall, covered the DADA curriculum.

"She seems to be very exacting and her lectures are a bit dry, or so Ginny says," explained Harry, "she swears some days she would bet on the woman being a distant relative of Binns".

Hermione shook her head reprovingly, but could not hold back the amused smile. She had received similar reports, if a bit less colourful, from the redhead. Neville, with whom she had kept a fairly frequent correspondence, had been much more benevolent about the new teacher. He had surprisingly - or not - taken over an apprenticeship position with Madam Sprout and was still following some classes.

As she helped Bill and Harry bring dishes to the kitchen, she overheard a hushed conversation at the dinner table.

"It is not getting better, isn't it? Your voice is worse and I think you might be getting a fever," Molly said trying to get her hand to George's forehead. t was a testament of how peaky he was that he wasn't quick enough to duck it. Hermione hedged back into the kitchen and decided to busy herself by washing some glasses. "When did you take the pepper-up last?"

"I told you, it's not working" she heard George rasp. There was a short silence, and Hermione was startled at hearing Molly calling her name.

"Yes, Molly?" she managed to call back as she fumbled with the glass she had been drying, making Harry chuckle. She threw him a dirty look before going back to the living room.

"Hermione, dear, I heard muggles use these small pills when they have bad colds instead of potions..."

"Erm, yes, there are different types, analgesics, antibiotics, anti-allergies..." she said, trying not to sound surprised by the sudden change of topic.

"Do you think you could get some for George? Just in case they work better than what he's taking right now."

"Eh, sure. I'll check with my parents tomorrow which ones he can take..." she answered, glancing at George, who was looking away with his jaw clenched.

"Thank you, dear."

She nodded with a vague smile, before turning back to the kitchen.

Not long after, she caught George sneaking out of the room towards the door. She followed and tapped on his shoulder hesitantly.

"Hmm, George, how do we meet tomorrow?" he looked at her puzzled. "So we can pop by the chemist's and get your pills."

He scoffed.

"Don't bother. I'm sorry about that," he said, barely meeting her eyes.

"Oh, it's no bother. I'm sure there is a chemist's close to Diagon Alley."

"I thought you were going to check with your parents?" asked George, frowning slightly

"I could, I keep some muggle pills at my place at all times, but it would be better if you explained the symptoms to a professional, just in case."

His frown deepened.

"I can't leave the shop alone."

Hermione frowned, realising that he was just spouting excuses - and not very good ones, at that - to try to get out of it. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling obliged towards Molly.

"O-kay. Then tell me your symptoms and I will check with them."

"I feel sick. My throat feels raspy."

"Could you be more specific?"

"My head feels fuzzy."

"Anything else?"

"Well, I do have a mole in my left buttcheek that has a perfect heart-shape, wanna see it?" he drawled with a nasty smirk

Hermione glared at him.

"Look, I just need to check with my parents if they would ask anything else. It's been a while since I used the muggle Health System."

He sent her a sceptical look, and looked about to argue when Molly appeared at the doorstep and sent him the look. He seemed to think better of it afterwards.

"I'll be at the shop all morning. Feel free to drop by anytime," he said in defeat, barely meeting her eyes.

She watched him leave with a frown, wondering what was it about. However, she did not dare raise the question until later that day, while she played a round of exploding snap with Ron, Harry and Percy.

"Why is your mother suddenly all concerned about George having a cold?"

Her seemingly innocent question made Percy blanch and clench his jaw.

"He's Depressed," answered Ron with pained grimace.

However, Hermione kept looking at him, as if waiting for the answer.

"Well, it's normal," said Harry tentatively.

"Yeah, of course, nobody blames him."

"Blames? Why would anyone blame him?" asked Hermione, feeling confused.

"No, I meant... Bloody hell. I meant that knowing how... he _is_ , he should take better care of himself. For mum if nothing else," ranted Ron, dropping his cards moodily against the table, clearly distressed. Harry and Hermione exchanged a worried look as Percy put a hand on his shoulder.

"Ron, it's just a cold," said Hermione trying to be reassuring.

"Precisely, a common cold. Like a muggle!"

"What do you mean 'like a muggle'?" Hermione asked, clearly offended.

"She doesn't understand, Ron," interceded Percy before he could start what had the looks of a shouting match. At that he closed his mouth and looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time.

"What don't I understand?" Hermione asked, miffed but starting to feel as if she was missing out or something really important. To her surprise, Ron seemed to deflate and dropped into one of the sofas.

"We are magical, Hermione, not muggles," answered Percy in a gentle tone. "We are essentially identical physiologically but our magic protect us. We don't get sick as they do."

"That's not true," interrupted Harry. "Colds are common, and you have Dragon Pox and Spitter-what was that thing you were supposed to have last year?" he asked Ron.

"Spattergroit," answered Hermione promptly, seeing that Ron didn't seem willing to answer.

"They are all magical maladies," answered Percy. "Even our colds. That's why we heal them with potions, not muggle pills. We are magical beings, not just magic wielders."

There was a silence.

"But then, what does it mean that George is getting muggle maladies?" said Hermione slowly. "Is he... losing his magic?"

"No, nothing like that," reassured Percy, but he still looked pinched. "As I said, our magic protects us, unconsciously, like little children perform magic spontaneously when threatened. That is why we normally survive accidents most muggles would not be able to. It is quite difficult to kill a wizard by muggle means because its body would defend itself, you know."

"But what does it have to do with George catching a cold?"

"It means that his magic is no longer protecting him," answered Percy simply, then pressed his lips together, as if undecided to say anything else.

"It means that his magic no longer has the will to protect him," interjected Ron again, and his voice had a grave timbre that made them all uneasy "- that he doesn't have the will to protect himself anymore."

The silence after his words was deafening.

"How come I've never heard of this?" asked Hermione, wanting to end the silence.

It was a testament of how serious the conversation was that nobody commented on Hermione not knowing something.

"It's common knowledge," answered Ron, back to being his uncomfortable self.

"I didn't know either," intervened Harry, at Hermione's questioning look.

"For magical families it is," amended Percy. "You'd probably stumble upon it at some point if you had studied healing or longevity or things like that. Although I'm surprised Malfoy never said anything," he explained, scoffing. "After all, most pureblood families like to revel in that fact to prove their supposed superiority. It's been the argument of pureblood supremacy for ages. No sense in mixing the blood and risking having a weak, unprotected muggle in the family."

"Yeah, that sounds about right for Malfoy, pity we never listened to him," teased Harry, trying to lighten the mood. He earned a couple of reluctant chuckles, and then he put an end to the game with a chain explosion.

Ron immediately mumbled some excuse before going back to the kitchen and Hermione looked down trying to conceal her hurt. 

Why wasn't he talking with her? He had not been answering her letters, except for a couple of short owls telling her that he was busy and wishing her luck. And a "You know I'm not good at writing, let's talk once you are back. I miss you."

Percy made his excuses soon afterwards and Harry and Hermione flooed to Grimmauld place.

"Harry, why didn't you tell me it was that bad?" she asked the moment he appeared at the fireplace.

"George? I didn't know."

"Harry..." she warned.

He sighed deeply and motioned towards the living room. He picked a couple of butterbeers and set one in front of Hermione without asking.

"I hoped it would have diffused a bit before you two met."

"But why doesn't he get it?" she asked, "Ginny does. Molly does. Every other fucking Weasley do."

Harry sighed again, then propped up his glasses.

"Let me tell you what happened here when you left."

"I thought that's what you'd been doing for most of the day-"

"Hush and listen. Everybody was crushed because of Fred, you know that. Ron took upon himself to keep George's spirits' up, and moved with him over the shop."

"I know that. It was kind of him."

"Yes, well, it didn't work out that well. Fred was Ron's brother too, you know, so he wasn't in any shape to lift anyone's spirits, really, and George... George was totally out of it. Not talking, not eating unless forced to. He wouldn't let Ron touch anything Fred's in the flat or in the shop. Ron slept on the sofa for weeks." Harry run a hand through his unruly hair. "You said it was normal, we all thought it was, that he would snap out of it after a while. Only he didn't. Ron stayed with him, helping out even after we started auror training in July. Then he started to shut everybody else out too." He started fiddling with his bottle. "Somehow Ron got into his head that you abandoned him and I was sticking with him only out of pity. Of course I told him it was rubbish the moment I found out but..." he struggled for words. "He needed you."

Hermione sat looking at him, stricken, for what felt like hours before she was able to form words.

"But I had to get my parents, Harry," she said softly with tears in her eyes.

"I know, and I'm not telling you that was the wrong thing to do. I'm telling you what it felt like for him. He was hurting and you weren't here." _For him_ , finished Hermione, hanging her head as tears started to fall.

Harry sat besides her and passed an arm around her shoulders until she wiped her face with her sleeve and pulled herself together.

"What happened then?"

"Well, he threw himself obsessively in both the shop and auror training and..." he trailed off for a second, then looked at her and shook his head back "After a couple of weeks spreading himself too thin even George started to notice something was wrong. That made him snap out of it, at least. He practically banned Ron from the shop. He finally sorted Fred's things and started to take care of himself. A bit. He even agreed to go back to the burrow for dinner everyday to prove everybody he wasn't about to..." he motioned awkwardly. "And well, after a while Ron came here with me, until-"

"Until I decided to come back and he made himself scarce." She finished miserably. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'll find somewhere else to live soon, I promise."

"Nonsense. I get why you left, truly, I do. And I think Ron does, too, but well, things have changed, and he doesn't know very well what to do with you now and... Look, you know how he is. He'll sulk for a while, then he'll come around," he ended, with quiet conviction. "Your turn now, I didn't want to push with everyone else around, but are your parents really OK? What's the plan?"

"If everything goes as planned, they'll come back in time for Christmas," she answered, brightening up. "They've been sending emails for months, reacquanting themselves with their old friends and testing the waters for reopening the clinic. They've been saying they were on sabatical," she smiled. "Mid-life crisis and what-nots."

Harry chuckled.

"I just decided it was time to head back," she said, glancing towards Harry. "I would like to have a look at the house and the clinic to make things easier for them when they arrive. This way they have a bit of extra time to say their goodbyes and enjoy the summer there for a bit longer."

"I'm very glad everything went well in the end," he said sincerely giving her a hug." Your first letters got me a bit worried."

"I know." she said, squeezing back. "It honestly was hard in the beginning, they did not even look at me in the eye. Now I can even use the wand in front of them, if I warn them beforehand - it's really been a long process."

"And it is only going to get better," said Harry with conviction, and her heart warmed at seeing him such at ease after all this time. It really seemed like a weight had lifted off him.

"I hope so too."


	2. Sliding doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not advise taking any medicaments without a doctor's prescription. Here I am just assuming this is something Hermione would feel comfortable doing since her parents would be quite familiar with non-prescription analgesics and pain killers such as paracetamol and ibuprofen. Just saying.  
> * NHS = National Health System (UK).

The next morning, after a lengthy conversation on the phone with her parents - Hermione thought it a good sign that they showed such an enthusiasm explaining the NHS in detail - and a quick stop at the chemist's, she flooed to the Leaky Cauldron.

As the bricks shifted and folded to give her entrance to the Alley, she felt her lips spreading into a smile. The image was so radically different than the one she had seen last time, you could think 10 years had passed. All the shops were open, with the window displays full and bright new signs broadcasting their wares. Hermione relished the sight of families with small kids, stopping at the window displays or to cast a lightweight spell, or simply strolling along the alley and enjoying the weak sun rays peeking between the clouds.

She glanced longingly towards Flourish & Blotts street display with the occasion books and promised herself to stop by later. She had received a small allowance from her parents until she finished her NEWTs so although she could not spend wildly, she had some spare pocket money. 

However, all her good spirits vanished then moment she realised WWW was closed. She firmly pushed back the paralysing fear and the voice in the back of her mind telling her that there was something very very wrong. The war was over. If anything, it would be George Weasley trying to mess with her... or not?

She peeked inside through the window and saw with relief that everything seemed in order. Hermione knew he wasn't keen on the idea but didn't honestly expect him to go to such lengths to avoid her, either. She stepped back and looked at the upper floors of the building critically. She remembered Ron telling her the twins lived over the shop, so she summoned her Patronus, gathering some curious looks, and sent it to the house.

A couple of minutes later the door of the shop clicked open, and she entered the darkened shop hesitantly, her wand still drawn.

A door opened at the wall behind the counter, startling her slightly. 

"Hi," he rasped, then motioned her to follow him. He was wearing some old threadbare pyjamas, and his hair didn't seem to have met a comb that day.

"Is this a good moment?" she asked, climbing the stairs after him.

"As bad as any. I reckoned thought you'd send an owl," he grumbled, opening another door and letting her in. "Welcome to my humble abode. Tea?" he offered dully.

"Green, if you have it," Hermione answered absently, looking around with curiosity. To her surprise, the flat wasn't a continuation of the garish shop. The shelves were of sturdy dark green wood and looked old with scratches and decolourations - _were those scorch marks?_ What you could see of the walls in the gaps between the admittedly impressive amount of books was a stripped paper that looked worn and faded in places. In contrast, the kitchen area was quite muggle and gleaming new. Hermione turned to face him and frowned. There, under the cold light coming from the kitchen's window, he wasn't looking well at all.

His movements were also slow, she noted, as if his arms were made of lead and it was a supreme effort to drag them from one place to the other. Hermione noticed the bags under his eyes were more pronounced and that there was a sheen of sweat on his face.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes, yes," he said, waving her concern away as he waited for the water to boil. "I just felt under the weather this morning and decided not to open. Perks of being the sole owner," he joked, but it was painfully clear his heart wasn't really on it.

"And Verity?"

"Out for the week. Some cousin's getting married and she asked to have the week off."

She bit her lip, fighting with herself, but eventually, she approached him.

"George, you're not well."

He glared at her while smacking two mugs on the kitchen counter between them.

"Don't start you too."

"I'm serious. I brought you muggle pills for the common cold, but right now it's looking as if it's something else. Can I take your temperature?"

He consented, still scowling. She leaned over the counter and placed the tip of her wand against his neck. She focused on the pulse point under his jaw, trying to ignore his glare.

" _Caliditas,_ " she mumbled, then removed her wand, holding it in front of her eyes. They both observed as a 38.8 puffed out of the tip and hovered between them before dissolving. She let her arms sag down.

"You should see a doctor."

"You mean the muggle Healers?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes."

"You're joking," he stated dismissively.

"No, I'm not. Put some clothes on, I'll go with you."

He blinked at her, his hand halfway back to the mugs.

"I'm serious. Put something on. We're leaving in five minutes."

After much grumbling and a few dirty looks, Hermione dragged him to a clinic near her home. She tapped her wand on a couple of her muggle cards and gave them to George. Now she was grateful how thoroughly and enthusiastically her parents had explained the British Health system that very morning.

The doors slid open, making George jump at her side.

"You said it was muggle, didn't you?" he commented, a hint of curiosity in his face Hermione hadn't seen in quite a long time.

"It's actually quite common these days," she commented, getting to the desk. "You can wait over there," she said, pointing towards some brightly coloured plastic chairs propped against the wall. While she waited for her turn, she saw him absently probing the material of the seat with his fingers. She shook her head, it was bright, smooth and outrageously orange. Of course he would like it.

Hermione explained to the nurse that he had a fever, and wondered if the confundus charm on the cards wasn't a bit too strong, since the nurse didn't seem surprised it was her doing all the talking.

"Is he vaccinated of the flu this year?"

"Vaccinated? No, no," she answered absently, but suddenly blanched as a thought struck her. Wizards didn't vaccinate their children. At all.

"Oh, don't worry, it's usual not to, unless he works with children..."

"No, he doesn't," she lied automatically thinking of the worryingly amount of children at WWW. "Hmm, er, one question... if he wanted to get vaccinated now, what would he have to do?"

"Well, if it's the flu it might be a bit too late to do that now..."

"No, I mean if he wanted to vaccinate for other things..." Now the woman was starting to get suspicious, and Hermione fought the urge to go for her wand. She improvised, lowering her voice. "It's just, now I recall him telling me his parents were some of those anti-vaccines fellows, you know."

"Oh, really," the nurse frowned as if personally offended and glared past Hermione towards the redhead watching the TV with fascination.

"He's not like that at all," she reassured. "But I'm not really sure that he did anything to remedy it when he grew up."

"Very well, I'll note it down in the papers for the doctor for now, but he should get an appointment as soon as possible. Once he is back in good shape, that is. The desk is on the first floor."

"Thank you. I'll let him know," she assured the nurse and went back to George with a troubled expression.

"Is something wrong?" he asked immediately.

"No, no. Well, not yet," she joked drily. "We have to wait now before seeing a doctor."

He sagged against his seat pulling at his ear and it struck Hermione that he might be nervous. She shook her head quickly dismissing the idea, that was not a word that she could not recall ever being able to attach to the Weasley Twins in any form. Or one half of them, she thought with a pang. She had left very shortly after the end so she was still struggling to adjust to Fred's absence.

"So, what's our cover story?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Cover story?" she asked, wrong-footed.

"You know I don't exist in the muggle world, I'm infiltrating. Are you my wife and I don't speak the language? Did I suffer a bump to the head and don't remember anything? Am I a mute?"

She chuckled, shaking her head.

"I falsified your papers or, well, made mine to look like yours. So we can be students. You're my flatmate."

"Oh," he said, deflating a bit.

"Well, we can make something else up for the doctor if you really wish to" she offered.

"Nah, it's okay. What do I study?"

Hermione observed him inquiringly, maybe he had a point, the doctor might ask.

"I don't know... Maybe you'd better be a friend visiting me. Say you work in a... candy shop."

"Very original, Granger," he intoned, and she huffed. "All right. I can do that."

"Good," said Hermione worrying her lip, mulling over which other documents could be necessary to 'forge' to get vaccines... and how to tell him about them.

"Hermione, something _is_ wrong, isn't it?" cut his voice again.

"Hmm, not really. Well, yes." she backpedalled, seeing his darkening expression. "You will need to get vaccinated, at some point."

"Voxinated? What's that?"

"Vaccinated," she corrected automatically. "Er... you know what an injection is?"

"An injection..." he mused, then his eyes widened. "Wait, isn't that the huge needle muggles stab each other with?" Hermione nodded. "Are you kidding me?"

"Hush, keep it down!" she hissed. "Look, there are some muggle illnesses that might be deadly, and they haven't found a cure for. However, they've discovered the way to protect themselves from them permanently."

"And the way is stabbing themselves? How did they ever arrive at that idea?"

"It's not stabbing. Well, they have to get the needle under your skin, but only to make the liquid go directly inside your body. It's not _just_ stabbing. And it's not that painful. After all the trouble you've gone through with your experiments and all the quidditch injuries, one would think that-"

"Mr Weasley?" called a nurse, putting an end to the conversation.

"Let's go," said Hermione, and pulled him up. As they followed the nurse she whispered hurriedly "If they ask you about allergies, say you don't have any you know of."

"Energies? But-"

"Allergies," she hissed but didn't have time to say anything else before they were in front of a short, thin man with an impressive moustache.

"Good morning, I'm doctor Ford. Please take a seat," He was good-humoured and to the point, and asked George several questions before examining his throat and chest and taking his temperature.

Hermione fidgeted terribly as George had to be walked through the paces of a simple 'open your mouth and say 'aah''.

"Congratulations, young man, you have a textbook case of pharyngitis caused by a strep throat," he determined, cheerfully.

"..and is that a good thing?" asked George, intrigued.

"Well, it could be worse," answered the doctor with a chuckle as he typed on his PC. "Antibiotics it is for you. You should take these pills every 8 hours, for a week," he explained, pointing at different items he scribbled on a prescription sheet, "and two of these twice a day for the first three days. You should notice an improvement after 1-2 days." He said, signing the sheet, then he checked the form filled in by the nurse. "On the topic of the vaccination, we could already schedule the first shots in 2-3 weeks, provided there are no complications, but I see your address is in Yorkshire..."

"That's because he is here visiting for a few days," interjected Hermione before George could give voice to his raised eyebrows.

"Well, then I'd recommend you to visit your regular doctor back home and bring the report with you."

"Oh, no need, he'll be here," she interjected again, gaining a raised eyebrow from both men this time. "We were planning on another visit in a few weeks so we can easily coordinate," she offered, blushing furiously.

"Ah, I see," commented the doctor with an amused glint in his eye. Hermione sent a glare at George at seeing his amused smile.

After securing an appointment for the next week, Hermione made sure George was back at his flat with his pills. She got him a glass of water and repeated the doctor's instructions.

"So, can I take the first dose now?"

"Yes, I guess so, the time does not have to be _that_ exact. It is not a potion."

Before she could stop him, he popped one of them in his mouth and bit on it.

"Don't- Oh, crap."

He had already spat out the halves of the pill and was at the same time gulping water and retching.

"Merlin's balls, the hell is in there... it tastes like chalk. Rotten chalk."

"You are supposed to swallow them whole!"

"How was I supposed to know that?" he snapped.

"I only you had listened!"

"If only you would have said before..."

They glared at each other before Hermione looked away.

"Do you want me to come back tomorrow? I could-."

"I already have a mother, Hermione," he cut, then grimaced and swallowed the other pill. "Short-ish, red-headed. Looks like a Chinese Fireball when angry. You might have met her-"

"Oh, shut it," she said snappily. "I was about to offer to cover for you at the shop. You are supposed to take it easy during the next few days, you know."

He had the gall to snort at her.

"If you believed for a moment I'm going to stay in bed like a good boy..." he said in a patronising tone that irked Hermione, as he crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen table. Now she remembered why she had avoided them all she could while being Ron's friend, while at Hogwarts.

"Well, suit yourself. When you collapse it'll be you the one explaining to your mother why you were working even after the doctor made you promise you wouldn't _and_ I offered a solution."

"You can't handle the shop," he blurted, his arms falling to his sides.

"Oh?" said Hermione, and that short word sounded more dangerous than many other people's death threats. George seemed to have caught on that too.

"You're not... I mean, you're smart, sure, but you're not any good with children. Well, you might be 'mother good', but not 'fun good'. ...And you don't even like our products!"

"That's not true! Well, at least the part of not liking the tricks - I don't know how I am with kids. But Frankly, George, if you'd rather have Harry or Ron, you could just have said it..."

"Ron's not coming back," he cut abruptly. "He's busy." 

"Then what's the problem? I do think some of your tricks are impressive magic."

He scoffed. "Right, that's why we always had you at our backs at Hogwarts."

She put her hands on her hips.

"Oh, please, are you still going on about that? I was a prefect and I didn't like you trying experimental and potentially dangerous products on first years. That's different!"

George kept looking at her with a raised eyebrow and a disdainful expression.

"Fine," she snapped. "Suit yourself. Open the shop and collapse at midday, and then explain to your mother why you're on St Mungo's. Or don't open it at all! See if I care."

Without another word, Hermione disapparated away.

\---------

The moment she left, he collapsed on his couch and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Being around muggles - and around her - with the fuzz invading his head had been a strain. He felt as if someone had stuffed his brain, and particularly the area between his eyes, with cotton balls, which gave him an idea that he painstakingly noted down in the first paper he found - probably one of the papers the muggle healer had given him.

It was not as if he really thought he would create it, he had not felt the energy to actually try to develop anything new since Fred left. But some part of him kept pushing him to keep noting down ideas, maybe to trick himself into thinking he was actually advancing with the shop.

He let the paper and quill slide of his hands, feeling completely drained. A niggling voice in his head told him he may need to start worrying. But then again, it had been ages since he last went anywhere other than the Burrow and his flat, and since he pretended to be okay for such a long time it was no wonder he was feeling quite shitty.

With one last effort, he grabbed another pill from the funny metallic sheet - may be another thing to note down? - and gulped the remaining water in the glass. He didn't even bother to go to his bed and fell asleep on the couch.

He woke a few hours later with a crick in his neck but a surprisingly clear head. He looked towards the neatly packaged pills with newfound respect, then groaned at remembering the spat with Granger.

She had been a good sport too, accompanying him and offering to take care of the shop. Damn, he knew he'd have to say something.

With a deep, pained sigh he called over Loki, his owl, and scribbled a note to her. He would need help minding the shop, after all.


	3. Welcome to Weasley Wizard Wheezes

When she knocked on the shop on Monday, she was feeling far less sure about her decision than the day before. She had received his owl with an apology in the afternoon and accepting her offer to help with the shop.

It turned out she would even be paid for it "you are covering for Verity, after all".

"Just remember: you're not at Hogwarts, you are not a prefect, and you are not their mother," George had told her after explaining shelf distribution.

She had rolled her eyes at him but nodded in acquiescence.

During the morning, however, she had been pleasantly surprised just how spot-on his advice was. Once she overpowered the urge to chastise and lecture the children on the dangers of their choices she found herself almost enjoying the work.

She had memorised the inventory in the first hour, so then it was just a matter of listening to them and pointing them in the right direction. She had always enjoyed being helpful, and she got a rush of satisfaction every time any of the kids or a tired parent gave her a smile in thanks. However, and even with George's assistance at the cash machine and his indications, she was exceedingly glad to finally hang the 'closed' sign at the end of the day.

She felt suddenly tired, grimy and dehydrated and wanted nothing more than to splash some water onto her face.

"May I go up freshen-up quickly?"

"Eh, sure."

When she came back George was nowhere to be seen but there were bustling noises coming out of the storeroom.

"May I help?"

"This is just inventory check, nothing interesting," said George, looking peakier than he had looked all day.

She checked her watch.

"It's time for your tablet, let me help you so we finish quickly. The sooner you take them. the sooner you have me off your back," she said.  
All the companionship seemed to suddenly evaporate. George looked at her defiantly and summoned the blister from the upper floor and swallowed the pills without water and without taking his eyes from her.

Hermione sighed.

"Suit yourself," she said, summoning her coat on the way to the door. "I'll be back tomorrow at 10," she threw back over her shoulder.

"I'll hold my breath."

However, the next day he made no allusion to the incident and let her help him with the inventory.

She made a point to keep her judgement and concerns over some of the products to herself, and he seemed to allow more and more questions before taking offence.

In the next days, she took it as a personal victory every day that passed without her and George locking horns. As she looked down to the WonderWitch Love Potion in her hands, pretending to read the information written in a loopy scrawl forming a heart, she wondered if that was about to change

"Uh, oh, let me ask the owner," she said to the tall pale man in front of her, mustering a smile. "I have not been working here for long."

She made a beeline for the counter, where George was just finishing ringing a very grumpy-looking man.

"And a very happy day to you too!" he chimed before turning to her.

Hermione cast a _muffliato_ around them.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately.

"Hum, George, I know you told me I am not a prefect nor anyone's mother and such but..."

He waved away her excuses away. "Out with it, it's busy."

"Look, there is that man over there asking all sorts of questions over the duration of the love potion and intensity and the effects and I am getting a bad feeling about it."

To her surprise, instead of the annoyed face she expected, he seemed to look at her faintly amused. She frowned.

"Granger, relax. The potions we sell are very diluted and have a lot of fail safes. Look, I'll explain the workings more in detail later today if you want - you see the queue?"

She was not convinced and it might have shown in his face because he gave an exasperated sigh. "Okay, take the counter and I'll go have a chat with that guy myself _and_ if he is as creepy as you say, I will send him on his way. Deal?"

"Thanks," she answered, giving him a clearly relieved smile.

After they closed the shop that evening and she cleaned up, she waited for him, leaning her hip against the back of the sofa.

"Are you ready?" she prompted, seeing him seated on his sofa lost in thought.

"What?" he asked. Hermione thought he managed to look believably wrong-footed but she was not going to let him get him get away with it.

"You said you would tell me about the failsafe of your love potions and I think we could both use a drink." She cocked her head, trying to ascertain if he had genuinely forgotten or if he was playing pretend. "You did not think I was going to let it go, no?"

He scoffed, still looking a bit out of sorts.

"Of course not. Okay, we can grab something at the Leaky, if you want."

Then the thought that he may not want to go out with her popped in her mind.

"I was thinking muggle London, but if you really don't want to go you can just say so," she said simply, trying not to let the insecurity colour her voice.

He opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head, apparently changing his mind.

"Let's go get that drink. Can't stay for dinner, though, if I don't appear at the Burrow in an hour or so my mum would send a search party." 

"Oh, sure, I forgot about that," answered Hermione apologetically. Harry had explained that George went often to the Burrow for dinner, as a way to keep Molly appeased. George only shrugged into his coat but said nothing. "I should actually say something to Harry too. Just a sec."

Her otter bounded out from her wand and made a couple of twirls around her before coming to look at her. "I will be home later than usual but I'll bring takeaway." When she looked up, she found George looking at her somewhat wistfully.

"What?" she asked feeling suddenly wrong-footed herself. It was true this was sort of uncharted territory, she had never been particularly close to the Weasley Twins, they were mostly friends by proximity after being fellow Gryffindors at Hogwarts and all the time she spent at the Burrow.

"Nothing, let's go," he said, opening the door for her. "Any preferences?"

"Not really, I don't know the area very well, but I do know it is quite the trendy area for muggles. We should be able to find something."

They walked towards the Leaky Cauldron exit discussing what they each knew about Soho and quickly agreed they would just pick a place as they go. Hermione only knew a couple of restaurants she had visited with her parents and George seemed to only be acquainted with the late-night pubs and nightlife, which she thought she should not have found surprising. He did have a certain reputation, which she had come to know through Ginny - she guessed Ron told most of these stories to Harry but Harry was not much of a gossip.

He became uncommonly silent once they exited the Leaky Cauldron and Hermione let him be, pretending not to notice. She knew most wizards felt slightly nervous when among muggles, although she suspected he had prowled the area at one point with his twin, seeing how he knew all the party hotspots. Still, she did not imagine he had gone out much in the last few months.

She gave herself a shake, trying to keep her thoughts positive. Since the war ended, she had found herself making a conscious effort of enjoying the smallest things. Walking with a friend - of sorts - through Soho without being concerned about being spotted, hunted or kidnapped, should definitely be one of them. Even if he was mostly silent.

Five minutes later they were in a corner of the Three Greyhounds, a cosy, old-fashioned pub in a corner of Greek Street, that George had announced to have yummy cider.

He ordered rhubarb cider, while she took a "standard" one, which made him roll his eyes. They perched themselves on two stools against one of the walls with a shield, and George discreetly cast a muffliato.

"Well, so what does it do?"

"First of all, let me tell you that all the edibles we sell that contain any type of potions need to be approved by the Ministry. As you might imagine, we can sell a "Love Philter" but we cannot simply sell Amortentia. Mr Garland would never approve it."

"Oh, I see, but Amortentia is a love philtre..."

"They are quite laid back on the marketing - as long as it is not a flat-out scam and it is not dangerous, Mr Garland is quite happy to let us market it. It is a tricky balance, but one we have to keep."

Not knowing if she would regret it and imagining she was playing into his hand, she gave in and asked.

"Mr Garland?"

"Garreth Garland, a fantastic name, if you ask me. Our liaison at the Office of Regulated Trading Substances and Artifacts. It is part of the Department of International Magic Cooperation."

"The same department Percy worked at? With Mr Crouch?"

"The very same," he confirmed. "Imagine our shock when we realised Percy might be the one to approve our products. It is a big department but you never know..."

Hermione chuckled, but she was aware he had not answered her question.

"So, if it is not amortentia, what is it?" she asked, genuinely curious.

He looked at her consideringly for a few seconds before talking.

"You really don't trust me, don't you?" he asked, with a self-deprecating smile.

"I do, although I do think we draw our limits in different places..." she looked at him earnestly. "At this point, I am mostly curious."

He seemed appeased.

"Well, I hope you understand this is a trade secret..."

"Sure," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not kidding, Granger," he said.

"Oh, sorry, sure," she backpedalled, feeling stupid. It was a feeling she used to have around the twins at Hogwarts too; she never knew if they were serious or not. "Should I sign a confidentiality agreement or something?"

He shook his head, an amused turn to his lips.

"Stop messing with me!"

"O-kay. Well, it does have amortentia, but very diluted and enhanced, among other things, with a creativity draught."

"Oh, that's brilliant," Hermione cut realising the implications. "So the target would be more likely to write poetry than actually do something about it, unless they are closeby."

"Well, we aimed for spouting poetry more than writing but you get the gist... they would still jump to the chance of getting more intimate, if you know what I mean."

"And isn't that dangerous?" she insisted, taking a sip.

"They are only supposed to last for a maximum of 3 hours - they are a prank, remember?"

"People can get in a lot of trouble in 3 hours..." she retorted.

"Twenty minutes would be more than enough for a lot of people," he joked, quirking his eyebrows at her, who only scoffed. "But that is where the failsafe quicks in: the effects dissipate the moment the target and the potioneer exchange fluids."

"Any fluids?" she asked, raising her eyebrows scandalised.

"Get your mind off the gutter, Granger. Normally people thinking of exchanging _those_ type of fluids would kiss first, or touch each other - enough sweat also counts" he said with a saucy wink.

She took a long sip of her drink, hoping that her embarrassment was not very evident. This is something she also remembered from Hogwarts. They were shameless and enjoyed messing with other people.

"How did you even manage that?" she asked eventually, proud of her nonchalant behaviour.

"There I am drawing the line at company secret line. But let me give you a hint: it works the same as amortentia."

She looked at him, her eyes glinting with interest. Normally amortentia made the drinker get an infatuation with the brewer, which had to add some of him or herself into the potion, keying it to him. They must have modified amortentia to be able to key it after they finished brewing it, like polyjuice.

"I imagine that it involves some sort of counter-potion that only activates when it receives a second dose of DNA. That is a really high level of potion-making,"

"Thank you. Does it mean I have managed to impress Miss Prefect?"

Hermione nodded, thinking she deserved the self-satisfied smirk he was giving her.

"Absolutely. Duly impressed," she agreed humbly.

The smirk became an almost genuine smile, if bleak, and Hermione felt the sort she had not seen since coming back, and Hermione suddenly felt lightheaded.

"Uh, we might need to get going, though. It's getting late," she said, frowning at the clock over the bar.

"Oh, crap, you are right.

On the way back, he seemed more carefree and insisted on picking the takeaway for Harry in Chinatown.

"Won Ton Soup is a safe bet. And definitely, you want to take Duck with Ginger."

"Do I?"

"You cannot go bad with ginger, present company excluded...Besides, I thought you liked gingers," he said, winking at her.

"Some more than others," Hermione snapped, feeling felt herself blushing slightly. 

He chuckled good-naturedly.

"I sure hope this is not you trying to mess with Harry," she said, poking him in his chest.

"Nah, Harry is in my good books, he is safe from pranking - mostly. Don't tell him, though, we would not want him to get too comfortable..."

Just when she was about to ask why was he exempted, it was her turn to order.

\----------------------

She stepped out of the floo and called out, "Harry, I'm home." Then proceeded to thoroughly syphon out the dust with her wand - even though she had been using it nonstop for a week, she was not about to become a huge fan of Floo travel anytime soon.

Harry bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen like an excited puppy, which made her smile fondly. Probably because of his lousy childhood with the Dursleys, he seemed super enthusiastic about trying new food, takeaways. The takeaways still counted as momentous occasions. Hermione would never tell him - nor Ginny - but she found his boy-like enthusiasm quite adorable.

"Gosh, Hermione, it smells terrific. What did you bring?"

"Chinese, from a little place in Chinatown, London," she announced, producing the packages of food, which he started opening immediately. "I got a particular resounding recommendation for the Duck with Ginger," she said, pointing to the likely candidate, "but it came from George so I would thread carefully. I am still not completely sure if he chose it because of the name - he's a ginger, you know."

Harry laughed heartily gathering a couple of dishes, "I see how he would have liked that," then did a double-take.

"You went out with George to take it?"

"Hmm, hmm," she confirmed, opening the cutlery drawer. "Fork or chopsticks?"

"Fork," he said. Hermione turned around and saw him holding the dishes without moving, observing her consideringly.

"What's the matter?"

He shook his head, and brought the plates to the table, still looking at her curiously.

"Nothing. It's just that he does not go out a lot."

"I imagine. He was not quite himself," she said carefully, studiously unwrapping the neatly packed food. "One moment he seems normal, the next one he is completely apathetic. Or grumpy."

"We share a bit of each?"

"Fine by me, it does smell heavenly," she commented, starting to serve herself. "We should go out to Soho sometime, invite Neville or Seamus. It's really annoying Luna and Ginny are still at Hogwarts."

"Tell me about it," he muttered.

She chuckled. "Sorry," she said, licking her finger, which had gotten a bit of ginger sauce and looking at it with renewed awe. It was good.

" _Friends_?"

She grinned, "sure". While she was gone, Harry and Ron (with Bill's help) had managed to isolate one corner of the living room at Grimmauld's Place from magic and installed a TV and a video player. The only problem was that the easiest corner to isolate had been just that, a corner, so they had been forced to set the TV and, by extension, the sofa and coffee table at an angle, which made Hermione's sense of symmetry every time she entered the room. 

A few weeks ago, Harry had asked her to bring all the Video recordings her parents could do away with, which had included the first four seasons of Friends. They had started watching it the night she was back and they had been watching two episodes a day since then.

They installed themselves on the sofa and proceeded to ear their food. Hermione's mind was absent, recalling George's playful wink and the neon lights reflected on his face.

Harry looked at her enquiringly, "another one?"

She nodded, breaking from her reverie, then asked innocently "So, how was Auror work today? Caught many dark wizards?"

He hit her with a pillow on his way to the VHS player.

"Stop it, it sounds too grown up and it is not true, I am only training."

"I know," she smiled mischievously "so you did not uncover any conspiracies today? you did not even find a local new Dark Lor-ompf?"

He threw a pillow at her face.

"Stop it, I have enough with the Prophet as it is."

"Was there anything new today? I did not have time to check, it was quite busy at the shop."

He grimaced.

"Some reporter saw me having a coffee with Tracey Davies and created a story out of it."

"Ouch, sorry. Ginny knows it's rubbish, right?"

"Yeah, yes. I received an owl from her, saying very nicely that I was lucky she knew it was bollocks. Or else." He chuckled. "Very Weasley-like."

Hermione giggled.

"I spoke with her through the mirror, afterwards," he continued. "She seemed fine, she was mostly angry at the paper but you know..." he chuckled. "She and Luna send their greetings, by the way."

"Try to catch me next time you speak with her," She smiled faintly, then sobered and started fiddling with a loose thread on the pillow Harry had thrown at her. "Hmm, Harry. How is Ron? I mean, did he say something?"

Harry looked very uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"I'm sorry to ask, really, but I-" she stammered a bit. "I miss him and I am worried and..." she looked at her hands. "You know."

Harry sighed and raked his hand through his hair.

"I know. He is fine, very busy with auror training, very focused - you would be proud," he half-smiled. "But he is still...adapting. I do think he will come round - I do - but..."

"...but he prefers to keep his distance?" she ended.

Harry opened his hands, helpless, and she slumped on the sofa with a sigh.

"It's like we are back in 6th year all over again," she grumbled.

She saw Harry wince and nod at her side.

"He can be an arse that way," he agreed.

"Hit the play," she said gloomily. However, when Harry set an arm around her shoulders, she leaned against him, letting her head drop against his, and felt better.


	4. Strange Flatfellows

It's Saturday already, he reminded himself, last day of the week. That meant she had been helping for six days now. George had to admit she had surprised him. He hadn't thought her capable of handling customer service and actually making an effort to sell his products. The same products she had tried to ban during school.

He shook his head in amazement. Fred would have not been able to pick up his jaw from the floor all week, he thought, then grimaced, as every time he was reminded of him, which still happened more times than he could count each day.

He was feeling better, though. Apart from the medicine, Hermione had been dragging him out for lunch every day, proper lunch. After a louse couple of days, he had noticed a fast improvement and only had a mild soreness in his throat to remind him he had been sick.

They re-stocked and did an inventory check, that took them another hour, then climbed up the stairs in silence. He still found amusing she wanted to 'freshen up' - whatever that entailed - after work each day but didn't comment on it. He wasn't about to antagonise her when she had been such a good sport; he'd wait until Verity was back to tease her.

Sure enough, she disappeared into the toilet, and he splayed his books and parchments over the kitchen table -the only table at the flat.

As every Saturday, he remembered painfully how he and Fred had squabbled over this. One of them would make numbers and plan the replenishing of the inventory while the other one reviewed the invention book, updated the progress they had done during the week and picked a couple of new ideas to explore. Depending on the week, they would fight for one or the other task. It could feel equally satisfying or exhausting to do the mechanic work of counting their earnings than to imagine the next creative challenge.

Lately, he had to admit he had done little more than balancing out the account and replenish the products running low on the inventory. He glanced towards their invention notebook on the side and covered in papers. He kept it open for the duration but more as a force of habit than anything else; he no longer had the time - nor the inclination - to develop anything new.

"I thought we were finished," interrupted her voice, and he felt another chair being pulled out.

"You are," he pointed out without looking up, "this is budget and planning."

"And you're doing all this on your own?"

"Well, no. I have Verity..." he said absently, squinting tiredly at the roll of parchment he was holding.

"You know what I mean," she said, and he could detect the faint exasperation tone that they used to enjoy provoking at Hogwarts.

"Well, while Ron was here he used to help in the evenings but he really needed to get away from it. Grimmauld Place is bigger and closer to work," a hint of the old mischief flashed through his face. "Plus I'm sure he's glad he does not have to bring birds home under his big brother's nose anymore - I might not have been at my best, but some of the puns were just too good to let go - oh, crap Hermione" suddenly he realised who he had been speaking with, and snapped his mouth shut. How could he had forgotten she was Hermione. Ron's Hermione. The girl that had bend over backwards to keep his little brother and Harry Potter alive. The girl his younger brother had mourned for then seemingly forget about in a matter of weeks. The Hermione that had to spend the last week taking care of him and was currently pretending to find her hands on her lap fascinating, even as she couldn't quite control the blanching of her face. "Oh, crap, I'm sorry."

Hermione sat brusquely as if hit.

"It's alright," she mumbled meekly. "That actually explains a lot..."

"Wait, you didn't know?" asked George, feeling even worse.

She shook her head, looking down at her hands.

"I thought he was avoiding me because he was angry I left..." she said, her voice gaining strength.

"Oh," said George.

"... I thought he was hurt. Why didn't he tell me? The idiot.. And Harry," she said, her eyes incensed. "I'm gonna kill Harry..." she stated, her voice deadly, and she purposely stalked towards the fireplace.

"No, wait, Hermione!" said George, and instinctively grabbed her waist, and held her back as she threw a handful of flu powder in. "You can't just go kill Harry, you know."

"Why ever not?" she yelled, struggling in his arms to set herself free and not caring how ridiculous it was.

"Well, for once he's the boy who lived -twice, I might add" he wheezed as an elbow hit his ribs, but didn't loosen his grasp. "...and although you can be quite scary on your own, I really don't think you should try where Lord Voldemort failed," he said, and Hermione gave a strangled snort but stopped struggling. "And second, he's your friend. You might miss him," he finished conversationally, settling her firmly on his couch and taking a seat on a crate in front of her. He checked his ribs through his clothes - that elbow had hurt - waiting for her to keep arguing.

He looked up, relieved the expected rant was not coming, and instantly felt the rant would have been preferable to her defeated face.

"Erm... Hermione," he said hesitantly, putting a hand on her shoulder. He wasn't expecting her to lunge into his arms and wobbled a bit on the crate before regaining balance. He rubbed her back absently, thinking that in a weird way it was almost nice to be in a hug in which he was not the one about to cry, and feeling at the same time like a terrible person.

"But why didn't they say anything?" she asked haltingly, once the sobs abated. "I thought he hated me for leaving to find my parents. I thought he was punishing me. The damned coward!"

George couldn't really argue with her.

"We always suspected he and Percy were adopted," he said, mentally berating himself. He had made a point to stop using "we", since it tended to provoke pitiful looks. It was not as bad as in the beginning, but it still slipped out too bloody often.

She gave a watery chuckle against his chest, surprising him that was all it took to make her laugh again.

"Thank you, it means a lot coming from you. I reckon most of you Weasleys improve with age, once you outgrow your giti-ness."

"Most of us? Well, I'll have you know I am a pretty decent fellow myself. Or that's what my mum says when she's not calling me a rascal..." He instinctually left a breath of silence, waiting for the addition of his twin, and felt the usual stab right in the middle of his chest when it didn't come "or a rogue, or a good-for-nothing goofball," he finished, not really happy with how that came out. He realised he had not tried to cheer anyone up in a while. He was rusty.

It did seem to make the trick, though, because she chuckled again and finally pulled back.

"I'm sorry about this," she said, wiping her face. "And I'm glad you told me, really. It's not your fault _they_ didn't. The idiots." she added for good measure, then sniffed. "Do you mind if I stay for a bit until I stop wanting to curse them to next Friday?"

He nodded, then thought better of it. He would blame the guilt of having made her cry, but the fact was that he didn't think twice before offering her.

"Hey, it's late and you look knackered. Why don't you crash here tonight?" he said, motioning to the couch. "I'll floo mum and ask her to pack dinner for us."

"Okay," she agreed, too quickly. "If you don't mind. And if you think _she_ wouldn't mind," she amended, then bit her lip. "I just don't think I want to see them right now."

He snorted. "Completely understandable. Knowing my brother it is a wonder it took you this long to get to this point. You can use Loki to warn Harry if you want."

"Thanks!" he heard her call out as he disappeared through the flames.

\--------------

Hermione scrawled a short note to Harry telling him not to wait for her and went back to the toilet to splash some more water to her face. Not for the first time she wondered over the purple cabinet over the sink. It had the height and the shape of a bathroom cabinet, but instead of sporting a mirror, the doors had been painted violent purple. The same purple as the shelves of the shop downstairs, actually. She shrugged, going back to the main room. She guessed that for the twins there was such a thing as "too much white".

As she waited for him to come back, she started to feel uneasy... The previous day she had been feeling strangely content and had a bone to pick with him but today her insecurity was preying on her. She had never spent any type of quality time with any of the twins beforehand. She had even purposedly avoided it while at Hogwarts, if she was honest with herself. They were bright, funny and outgoing but they didn't strike her as particularly sympathetic, with a sharp wit and unforgiving tongue, not to mention the humilliation potential of their tricks. And she was the boring, goody-two-shoes, Hermione Granger-

She shook herself.

_No, Hermione, you were a boring, goody-two-shoes... when you were 12. Then you grew up, stole from a teacher, brew illicit potions, got a timeturner, created an underground fight team, fought death-eaters, became a fugitive, got tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, broke in and out of Gringotts and fought a battle._

She did not need to impress anyone. Still, when he saw him smoothly stepping out of the fireplace and presenting a pot in front of her with a flourish, she was honest enough to admit that his exhuberance, even subdued, still intimidated her. _He_ still intimidated her.

He made short work of splitting the food in two plates.

"I am feeling better, by the way," he announced once they were back sitting down. "You did not ask me how I am doing today."

Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh, knowing he was teasing her as he had every time she had asked him how he was doing during the week. There was no way to do right by him.

"You are looking better today," she replied with a small smile. "Sorry you felt neglected."

"Aw, shucks, thanks, Hermione," he answered playfully, and she rolled her eyes.

As they ate in silence, Hermione felt her eye dragged towards the big green bookshelf that took most of the left wall of the room.

"See something you like?" intruded a low, playful voice in her thoughts. She felt her face heat up and kept looking away, knowing he probably only made the quip to get a raise of her.

"Actually, yes. I did not expect you two to..." she showed her palms.

"Then you would be absolutely gobsmacked to read most of the titles," he stated. "There is some fiction, but they are mostly specialised books. Charms, transfigurations and potions, mostly."

Her interest was definitely piqued.

"For the shop?"

He nodded.

"I know it's hard to believe, but we were not born with this talent."

Hermione flashed him a smile, "Mind if I go check?"

"By all means," he said, gesturing gallantly with his hand.

She saw some titles she recognised, some that she didn't. Her hands stopped over _Moste Potente Potions_ with a smile.

"You can borrow it if you want. Any potion book, actually. I rarely need them anymore."

She looked at him inquiringly.

"I can brew most of our creations in my sleep," he stated, his face darkening. "Let me tell you I am a quite decent potions maker, I even got an outstanding in the OWLs you seemed to value so much. Fred was the one that was pants at it."

There was a moment of stillness after his proclamation.

"I never meant to imply you weren't good at potions," she said softly, filling the silence.

"If it is for the NEWTs, I would recommend Otto's instead," he grumbled eventually, coming to stand beside her, his tone slightly apologetic. " _Moste Potente Potions_ has some very interesting and complex potions, but most of them are not part of the curriculum."

"I know, it was mostly sentimental," she said.

" _Moste Potente Potions_ , sentimental?" he asked, amusement creeping in his voice.

"Well, Polyjuice was the first and most complex potion I have ever brewed... and I might have spent most of last year carrying Hogwarts' only copy in my beaded bag," she admitted reluctantly.

He gaped.

"That can't be... Hermione Granger stealing a book?" he said, clearly floored, then gave a bark of laughter. Figures it would be your passion for reading that turned you in a criminal," he said, guffawing.

"I gave it back! A couple of days ago..." she added, which make him chortle again. "Oh, stop looking at me like that. It is not _that_ funny," she said, feeling herself colouring as his smile continued to expand and he leaned against the bookshelf to stare at her from a better angle. "George, seriously. If I can't be surprised by you owning so many books, you can't be surprised by me breaking some rules."

"You may have a point," he said, still grinning. At that moment, with the ruffled hair and his twinkling eyes, Hermione thought he almost looked like his old self.

"Thank you," she said primly, wisely deciding not to remind him that she had also, technically, stolen from Gringotts. "I might take you up on your offer to borrow them, though."

He shrugged and propped himself up.

"Sure, you know where to find them. I'm knackered, though, I'm going to bed. Sleep tight."

"Thanks, George. Really. I know it was silly of me to stay bu-"

He waved her explanations away.

"It's good to be silly from time to time," he said. Then disappeared inside the flat.

\---------------------

The next morning he woke up earlier than he used to to the heavenly smell and the comforting sounds of breakfast being cooked. He frowned, confused for a moment. Neither Fred nor Ron had been morning persons... _Granger_ , he suddenly remembered, as he was padding towards the kitchen.

The feeling of not being alone in the flat was so comforting he couldn't bring himself to get annoyed at being woken before his time, and he followed the sounds to the kitchen.

She looked a bit pale, all her hair pulled up to a messy ponytail, but she smiled at him when she saw him at the doorframe.

"Morning," she greeted cheerfully. _Too_ cheerfully. "I'm glad you're aw-"

He cut her chattering with a raised hand and turned back into the toilet. He wasn't awake enough for that. After relieving himself he needed several splashes of water on his face to brace himself for the girl at the kitchen. How could he had forgotten? Hermione Granger was a morning person, the _morningest_ person of the _morningest_ persons - everybody in Gryffindor knew that.

When he entered again she seemed unsure.

"Hi."

"Morning, Hermione," he rasped, grabbing a cup and filling it up with coffee.

"Good morning" she replied hesitantly. "I made breakfast."

"Thanks," said George, taking a gulp and rubbing his forehead. "You shouldn't have."

"I thought it was the least I could do," she replied, smiling hesitantly.

"You didn't have to..." he insisted, then his eyes fell on one of the plates. "Blimey, are those croissants?"

She shrugged.

"I went to Fortescue's to get some. I recall you telling me you liked them... I didn't remember the fillings, though."

"Chocolate. Chocolate is always good," he said fervently, feeling much more awake. He snatched one and bit it unashamedly.

She watched him eat, sipping from time to time from her own cup and smiling satisfied.

As he finished his second croissant, he observed her washing her cup on the sink, then gathering her shoes and coat to leave. He found himself strangely reluctant to face the empty flat again.

"What are your plans today?" he asked.

She shuffled her feet.

"I don't know. I thought I could go for a walk - it's been ages since I went to muggle London - and grab some newspapers. Then I'll probably lock myself up in my room at Grimmauld Place and start applying for a job and a room."

"Are you really that angry?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes," she replied, her voice steely, then shook her head. "No. I don't know. It doesn't matter."

He looked at her. "Right, it certainly seems that way."

"It doesn't," she repeated more forcefully. "Besides, why do you care?"

He sighed dramatically, feeling indulgent after the delicious breakfast. He thought he didn't, not really. But it was a distraction. Maybe because she was a bit of a stranger, it felt like a breeze of fresh air. The worry he could feel when surrounded by his family felt almost constrictive.

"Well, I, for one, wouldn't like to face my mother once she gets wind her youngest son is the reason a perfectly fine lady is struggling to make ends meet. So come here and tell uncle George," he said, pushing her chair back with his foot and patting the seat.

She rolled her eyes at him but obeyed, a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth.

"Well?"

"I had planned on getting a half-time job and maybe rent a room." He sent her a pointed look. "Okay, I had planned on living with Harry - the job-thing is true. But seeing what the real problem with your brother is, it doesn't matter if he decides to grow up and tell me or not. It would be uncomfortable anyway and I would be the first one that would want out of there."

"You do see that the most reasonable solution is for him to stay at mum's, right?"

"I couldn't do that to them."

"Who, mum and dad? Come on, Ron's a bit of a git, but they love him anyway - or so they claim..."

She rolled her eyes again but this time she couldn't held back her smile.

"Hush, you. I meant Harry and Ron," she retorted, but then her smile faded. "They're doing auror training together and they've always wanted to live together."

He observed her consideringly as she got lost in thought. His brother was a right git. He couldn't blame him for moving on after she left, or for wanting to play the field before settling down... but to do it behind her back after all they've been through...

She wasn't what you'd call stunning but she was more than OK-looking, he reckoned. And there was no way in hell Ron would find anybody with more guts - not to speak about brains. Well, it wasn't as if he could go shake him and force him to see what was in front of him.

Just then a thought flashed through his head and he froze, thinking over the possibilities. It might rub his mother the wrong way but his brother would be royally pissed, which was sort of the point. And Gin would probably be delighted. But what was more, it had just the touch of crazy that made him interested. And it had been ages since he had felt that feeling, so he blurted it.

Apart from all his issues, what he felt was, above all, boredom.

"Come live with me."

\--------------

After spending the better part of the morning convincing her he was serious - who could blame her? - she decided on moving that very evening. He had refused to have her pay the rent, he would only accept breakfast on Sundays.

She sneaked into Grimmauld place quietly and locked herself in her room as planned. However, instead of newspapers, her arms had been full of cardboard boxes.

She felt feverish, and tried not to stop to think in case she regretted it. But it was so unlike herself... She always thought everything through, weighed all the possibilities, then chose the best one. She never simply 'jumped in'.

 _It's George, just George. You've known him for ages,_ she said to herself, but somehow it failed to reassure her at all. She had already thought about George being too unpredictable for comfort. But now, with a bit of distance she considered a different perspective; he was a mourning, depressed young man, which was something she suddenly found considerably more daunting.

At that she put down the books she had been about to pack.

 _What was she doing,_ she thought, sitting on her bed and pulling on her hair, making it creak.

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, then looked around, seeing the dark green walls and gloomy light coming from the window. A noise downstairs told her Harry was there, probably cooking, and her eyes filled with tears. He was a jerk, but she couldn't leave without saying something.

She would leave, though, she tried to reason. He was practically married with Ginny, who was Ron's sister, who loved quidditch - as all Weasleys did... which was an extremely stupid reason for leaving since she was planning to go live with yet another Weasley.

Although, somehow George no longer counted, she thought, thinking how stranded he was now, and felt terrible for it. But maybe that's why she should go there, he shouldn't be alone.

At that she huffed and pulled at her hair again, so now she was doing this for George?

 _Stop it,_ she told herself firmly. Keep to the facts: she wanted to leave Grimmauld Place at once. George offered a place, at least for a while. She could always leave if it didn't work.

 _There, that's it_ , she thought firmly, and finished packing.

She pocketed everything in her beaded bag, and frowned deeply in concentration, layering weight-lightening after weight-lightening charm until she could carry it.

"Hi Hermione," greeted Harry, piking a pot and settling it on the stove. I was about to call on you to ask you if you wanted dinner..." His greeting smile froze in his face at her expression. His sharp eyes fell then on her beaded bag and he frowned. "What's wrong?" asked Harry immediately.

"I'm moving out."

Finally Harry's eyes fell on the empty bookshelves.

"What? Now?"

Hermione nodded.

"No," interjected Harry immediately. "I told you Ron would have to suck it up."

"It's not just that, Harry," she said stiffly. "I know why Ron is really avoiding me - no thanks to you, by the way," she said, glaring pointedly.

"Then how-? George," he answered himself, wincing. Hermione nodded once, sharply. "I didn't think he would tell you about that... I mean, you've never been best pals or anything."

"I'm moving in with him."

"You can't be serious."

"It was his idea," said Hermione defensively. "Besides, it's only for a while."

"Then stay here. You're like family to me and Ron can stay at the Burrow."

"Ron's almost family too, and I... I don't know if I want to stay here knowing you hide things from me."

"Hermione..." started Harry, and sighed. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me. I-" her voice shook slightly. "I am your friend too. I-" She swallowed thickly and secured her beaded bag on her shoulder. "How long were you planning on stringing me along thinking that he was just hurt, that he would come back?"

"It was not like that. I have been telling him he should come talk to you. I just thought it should have been him telling you."

"He should have," she agreed. "But this is for the best, you work together, train together... I don't want to be in the middle."

"You are not in the middle, you are not a bother. Damn it, Hermione! You are the closest thing to a sister I have, the closest thing to family. "

"Same as Ron," she finished sadly. She shook her head.

"I'll owl you to have lunch later this week, okay?"

"Say bye to Dean for me," she said, before walking away.

\--------

Harry was left in the kitchen alone, with only the bubbling sound of the spaghetti boiling. She did not resist the impulse of smashing the dish against the floor. The dish broke with a satisfying crash. It was the first time in a while he felt tempted to break things.

"Stupid, selfish git," he muttered. He was just about fed-up with Ron's attitude and more than a bit annoyed with himself for not having come clean to Hermione about it.

Just then the floo activated, letting Dean through.

"Hello mate," he greeted cheerfully before seeing the broken pieces and Harry's thunderous expression. "What's wrong?"

"Hermione found out about Ron," he said simply, with a sigh.

"Oh, I see," he said, wincing. "Which one of them?"

"She knows there were several... George barely feels the need to string two sentences together in the last six months but suddenly he has enough words to tell her all about it!"

Dean Thomas chuckled, nodding in understanding.

"The Twins were always a pain in the arse," he said. "I remember when I was dating Ginny, how they used to appear in the most unlikely places just to remind me that I was always being observed." He shuddered, "Inspired the fear of God in me, they did."

Harry shook his head.

"Hmm, Dean, I've been meaning to ask you... are you okay with Ginny and I..? You know."

He looked at him seriously and suddenly he seemed a complete different person.

"I know. It used to drive me nuts but it's been a long time and I know it was not your fault we broke up.

Harry looked away, trying not to show his guilt. _Felix Felicis_ intervention might have had something to do but he did not feel the need to point it out right now. As Dean said, it had been a long time.

"Thanks, mate. I'm glad to hear. I'm serious about her."

Dean patted him on his back and gave him a tentative smile.

"I can see that. Still, you should go out sometime with me and Seamus - you don't have to bring a bird back home if you don't want to."

"I'll think about it," said Harry, not completely at ease with the prospect. "Actually, Hermione told me yesterday we should go out sometime to Soho, in Muggle London."

"Seamus would love it - I think by know he knows Temple district too well."

"Give me a couple of weeks to convince her to speak back to me, though. I'm not her favourite person at the moment."

"Don't worry, mate. A couple of nice meals and a double session of Friends and we will have her back."

"Well, that might be a bit problematic, seeing she moved out."

"What? When? "

"Just this morning"

"Where to?"

"George's"

"Weasley's? So Miss Prefect and Headgirl wannabe living in close quarters with a Weasley twin. You're kidding me."

"I wish"

"Wait, you think they are..." he said, opening his eyes exaggeratedly.

They looked at each other for a moment, but Harry broke down first in a bark of laughter.

"No way in hell," he said.

\-----------------------------

In the next days, he would find himself wondering why he had decided to offer her to share the flat. 

If he was being honest with himself, he would admit part of his reasons had been quite petty but there was also a part of him that genuinely wanted to help. Maybe it was an inherited Weasley trait, but the same way the Burrow's doors had been always open for anyone in need of them, he thought his flat should be. And, brother's girlfriend or not, Hermione was almost family. Maybe a second cousin-like, but family nonetheless.

However, as he was finishing his dinner at the burrow, trying not to snort at his younger brother's glares 'Now he acted jealous.' his enjoyment was certainly coming from the less altruistic ones. Such as the surprise factor.

His father looked only mildly worried, much more concerned about his latest case. Her mother was sending him inquisitive glances, clearly still undecided if it was good or bad development. Harry was observing him warily, with the intensity Crookshanks had studied the gnomes the first time before deciding to attack. Ron had been looking purple half of the dinner, and not because he was choking on it, as he usually did. Bill looked vaguely amused, and Fleur was looking from one to another, perplexed, clearly not understanding the problem. Percy was the surprise, in his opinion, because he was looking more puzzled than anything else.

Before the war he would have been indignant on Hermione's behalf, George reckoned, he had been supportive of almost anything he did or didn't. The guilt Percy felt for Fred's death, although undeserved, still hung heavily upon them.

Her mother had settled on 'potentially good' after he had hinted about an uncomfortable situation and her helping out at the shop, and had refrained from issuing any warnings other than the 'take care of yourself. Bring her around next week' that could be considered 'standard' for her.

All in all, a very satisfying meal. And a welcome change from all the wary and commiserating glances he usually received, sad undertone permeating every room he entered in. Maybe it was time to shake things up.


End file.
